


Mara

by Redlance



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-31 02:15:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13965177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redlance/pseuds/Redlance
Summary: Beca reminds Aubrey of a girl she knew in high school.





	Mara

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SlowBurnJane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlowBurnJane/gifts).



> Written for a friend.

* * *

Beca reminds Aubrey of a girl she knew in high school. Although ‘knew’ is perhaps too strong a word. They weren't friends and they ran in completely different social circles, but that didn't stop the girl from calling Aubrey ‘Prissy Posen’ whenever she was within earshot.  
  
She had a handful of insulting catcalls that she favoured, actually. That one just seemed to be her favourite. Maybe it was because this girl - Mara - could somehow see right through every attempt Aubrey ever made at being easygoing. Which was something she’d always found difficult. She was so busy weighing the pros and cons of whatever it was she was being asked to do that there was very little room for ‘easygoing’.  
  
That and her father didn’t know the meaning of the word. Her upbringing had been strict and rigid, and Mara had taken every opportunity to exploit the way that rigidity had stuck to Aubrey’s spine. Even when Aubrey had tried to verbally fight back, Mara always had something else to say. Tucked neatly into the back pocket of her too-tight black jeans.  
  
And while Beca has never resorted to calling Aubrey names - to her face, at least - her attitude mirrors Mara’s in a way that gets right under Aubrey’s skin. Beca wears a little less black, is minus the red hair, but sport a similar amount of eyeliner and really, Mara had been the first thing to cross Aubrey’s mind when Chloe had pointed Beca out at the activities fair.  
  
It had brought make a few memories, to say the least. Even now, after years removed, thoughts of the other girl had an effect on Aubrey.  
  
She’d had no idea why she’d been the victim of such concentrated bullying until two days before graduation. The star quarterback - of course - had thrown a party for his fellow seniors and everyone from the chess club to the cheerleading squad had been invited. She'd gone along with the rest of the cheerleaders and had been enjoying a fairly predictable senior leading party right up until she'd walked straight into her name-calling nemesis in the upstairs hallway.  
  
“If it isn't Prissy Posen.”  
  
Aubrey had just been looking for the bathroom. That's all. She was eighteen and graduating, and so over whatever issue this girl had with her. From here on out, she was going to be outspoken and unapologetic.  
  
“ **What** is your damage?” She'd barked, surprising them both. Mara's dark eyebrows had inched towards her hairline and Aubrey had watched as lips painted a red so deep it was almost purple shifted into a smirk.  
  
“Someone give you your big girl boots as a graduation gift?” Her stormy blue-grey eyes had wandered over Aubrey as if reevaluating or appraising. It made Aubrey bristle even further.  
  
“You'll find out when you get one of them up your ass.”  
  
And those same eyes had lit up like a Christmas tree.  
  
“Kitty grew claws, too. I'm impressed, Posen. Graduation looks good on you.”  
  
Then without warning, Mara had sidled up so close to Aubrey that Aubrey’s back had hit the hallway wall as she tried to jerk away. And the girl had laughed. A raspy, rough sound that should have grated on Aubrey's nerves but didn't. Instead of stoking her anger, this time, all of that smug cockiness rolling off of the other girl stoked something else instead.  
  
And the feeling had shocked her so completely that when Mara pressed her lips to hers Aubrey didn't flinch. Didn't move. Felt concrete encase her legs as foreign hands burnt imprints into her hips and soft, sure strokes of the girl's tongue tease her own.  
  
It only lasted a few seconds and immediately afterward, Aubrey had delivered a smack right across Mara’s cheek.  
  
But it had lasted those few seconds and Aubrey knows that the slap had been reflex, her body working on autopilot. Judging from the smug grin on Mara’s face, even as she cradled her palm to the side of her face, she knew that too.  
  
That was the first time another girl had kissed her.    
  
Chloe had kissed her during their first hood night, high on acceptance and cheap alcohol. That kiss had lasted longer. Maybe because Chloe tasted like fruit punch, rather than cigarettes and cider. Maybe it was because of the way Chloe smiled at her, with all the warmth of the sun packed into a single action as she looked at Aubrey like she was the only one there that night.  
  
Maybe it was because that time, Aubrey had kissed back. Really kissed back, rather than simply allowing herself to be kissed. Later, they’d stumbled back to Aubrey’s dorm room and spent the rest of the night trading kisses. Aubrey had marveled at how the simple act of trailing her fingertips along a bare arm dashed goosebumps across pale skin. How kissing a neck that’s already extended and waiting, can pull a litany of gasps from the person beneath you.  
  
Things never progressed beyond that kind of thing between them. There were a few more kisses over the years, but nothing that either of them ever felt put their friendship at risk. It was something entirely new for Aubrey, opening up to someone as much as she did with Chloe, but it proved invaluable.  
  
Because it meant Chloe knew how to handle her upsets and mood swings.  
  
Which, once Beca Mitchell showed up, seemed to increase exponentially.  
  
Beca was, for lack of a stronger, more accurate word, infuriating. Aubrey didn’t understand why she couldn’t simply accept what she was being told and go along with it like everyone else. Like she had when she was one of them. As captain, it was her job to make sure they were the best, but Beca seemed to be making it her mission to sabotage them at every turn and Aubrey was very near the end of her rope.  
  
“Stop. Stop!” Her clapping for attention falls flat due to the water bottle she's holding in one hand, but her Drill Sergeant yell is enough to make heads turn. Chloe quickly cuts the music and the other girls somehow manage to collapse while still standing up.  
  
“My underboobs are sweating,” Amy whines, pulling her shirt away from her body and waving it so that cool air flows in. “Boob-pits? I don't-”  
  
“Are you deliberately not getting any better?” Aubrey’s hands fly to her face, one pressing the cold water bottle to her cheek and she tries to soak in the coolness of it. She can hear how shrill she sounds, knows it isn't helpful, but isn't able to stop herself. “Because it feels like you're **deliberately** not getting any better.”  
  
“Aubrey, they're doing their best-”  
  
“Are they, Chloe?” Aubrey barks and she sees Chloe flinch, but keeps going. “Because if this is their best, then we're about as screwed as a senior on Prom Night.”  
  
“Ooooh!” Amy's noise of appreciation is followed by her approaching Aubrey for a high five that is in no way reciprocated, nor even glanced at.  
  
“What's your problem, dude?”  
  
Aubrey’s eyes snap to those of steely blue. The ones that always seem to be smiling and laughing at her.  
  
“I,” Aubrey begins, patting her chest repeatedly with her palm, “am not the one with the problem. This is simple choreography.”  
  
Outspoken and unapologetic, that's what she had decided.  
  
“Yeah.” Beca nods her head like Aubrey's the one who isn't understanding. “And we're all doing it.”  
  
“Your dancing makes you look like a munchkin having a seizure.”  
  
“Your insane desire to dictate makes you look like a dic-” Beca pauses, swiping her tongue across the front of her teeth, “-tator.” There's a shadow of a smirk at the edge of her lips and it's as one dark eyebrow is rising that Aubrey attempts to step forward towards Beca.  
  
“Okay!” Chloe grabs her at the last second. “How about we call it a day?”  
  
“Aca-awks.” Amy quietly slinks away to get her things and the others slowly follow. Beca, of course, is the slowest.  
  
“Aubrey, breathe.” Chloe's voice is a whisper at Aubrey's ear as she squeezes the blonde's shoulders.  
  
“Why is she, how, what is wrong with-” she cuts herself off and listens to Chloe, taking a deep breath in. “She does this on purpose. To rile me up.”  
  
“I'm sure she doesn't, Bree.” But Chloe's tone suggests that she isn't quite believing her own words.  
  
After a few more moments of shoulder rubbing, Chloe suggests they go for coffee or ice cream to unwind and relax, but Aubrey declines. She just wants to go home and close her eyes. So, Chloe invites Stacie along because now she really wants ice cream and after packing up the last of her things, Aubrey heads out toward the Bella house.  
  
Only, that's not where she goes.  
  
The only reason she knows where Beca’s dorm room is, is because the Bellas have to write down their room locations in a ledger. Aubrey’s pretty sure Alice did it just to keep tabs on everyone, but Aubrey isn’t one to stray from tradition.  
  
She isn’t even sure that Beca will be home, but her feet have carried her here regardless and she’ll be damned if she leaves without giving that raccoon-eyed pain in her ass a piece of her mind.  
  
She knocks on the door, rapping three times in quick succession, then she waits. She hears the faint sound of music, followed by that of movement, and then the door is being yanked open.  
  
Eyes the colour of stormy seas connect with hers for a second before they roll with such a  heavy sense of theatrical dramatics, Aubrey's surprised the sheer weight of it doesn't crush Beca.  
  
“Even your knocks are shrill and obnoxious.” Beca leans against the side of the door and says nothing more, apparently unfazed by the glare Aubrey has settled on her. “Why are you on my doorstep?”  
  
“I know you don't have much experience with manners, but it's considered polite to ask a person in.” Aubrey’s smile is pinched as she glanced at the few people milling about in the hallway.  
  
“Is it considered polite to insult your host?” Beca shoots back and, realising this is going nowhere fast, Aubrey does what she does best and takes charge by forcing her way into the room. “Hey! Breaking and entering!”  
  
“Oh, don't be dramatic, Beca.” Aubrey rolls her eyes and takes in the room. Beca’s laptop is on, the monitor displaying some music program that Aubrey wouldn't know what to do with. She can hear music filtering out through the headphones that have been left on the desk and, after hearing the door click shut, she sees a blur in her periphery. Beca moves over to her computer and pauses the track, then turns with her arms crossed over her chest to look at Aubrey.  
  
“Dude, seriously. Why are you here? We just spent, like, three hours together.”  
  
Beca is staring at her, expectant, and Aubrey isn't doesn't really know why she's here. Her fingers flex around the shoulder strap of her bag and then grip tight enough to turn their knuckles white. Beca glances down but doesn't say anything.  
  
“I need you to just do what I say from now on, okay?” Aubrey’s voice isn't as strong as she wants it to be and Beca scoffs at the request.  
  
“We are never going to win with that worn out setlist-”  
  
“I didn't ask for your opinion!” Aubrey half screams, then closes her eyes and forces herself to take a breath.  
  
“And I didn't ask you to stop by, so…” Beca waves an arm out to indicate the door.  
  
“This is exactly why I didn't want you in the Bellas.” Aubrey's bark is harsh and bitter, and Beca's expression becomes a blank canvas for a moment before it's filled with sarcastic disdain.  
  
And Aubrey… Aubrey feels guilt hit her in a way she hasn't yet experienced with these girls. With Beca. Hard and sharp, right between the ribs. After being on the receiving end of Chloe's kicked-puppy expression, Aubrey didn't think anything could top that.  
  
As it is rapidly turning out, a girl with an ‘I have no feelings, you can't hurt me’ exterior and a 'literally nothing you say means anything to me’ attitude inexplicably showing even a nanosecond of hurt is, apparently, tied for top place at the very least.  
  
“You can show yourself out.” Beca doesn't offer anything else, just turns away and sits back down at her desk.  
  
Aubrey doesn't **want** to feel guilty, because Beca has been a thorn in her side since the activities fair and it's true. This is exactly why Aubrey hadn't wanted her to join the group. Beca is sarcastic and stubborn, and she obviously enjoys getting a rise out of Aubrey. She is, Aubrey thinks, just like Mara.  
  
Something about that twists her gut every time she thinks about it and all she wants to do now is exactly what Beca had suggested; leave.  
  
“Why are you so….” Aubrey trails off with a frustrated sigh and furrows her brow. The sound prompts Beca to spin her chair to face her again.  
  
“So… what?” It’s definitely more of a challenge than it is a question. “Obnoxious? Sarcastic? Ear-spikey?” Aubrey rolls her eyes but Beca laughs, scornful. “No, seriously. What’s the insult of the day going to be? Or was it munchkin?” Beca narrows her eyes with a shake of her head. “You know, you act all high and mighty, but you aren’t any better than the rest of us.”  
  
The thing is, Beca’s right and Aubrey knows it. The truth stings, irritates, slips under your skin like a sliver.  
  
“You don’t even know me,” Aubrey protests, shifting uncomfortably against the sudden urge to itch at something.    
  
“I’ve known girls like you my entire life,” Beca shoots back without missing a beat. “Popular and pretty, and prissy.”  
  
And it’s that last word that does it. Short circuits something in Aubrey’s brain and makes her see red. She practically lunges forward, forcing a surprised Beca to roll back a few inches, and thrusts a finger down into the other girl’s face.  
  
“Don’t you dare-” But Beca is about as stubborn as Aubrey herself is.  
  
Beca manages to get a hand to Aubrey’s hip to push her back just far enough for Beca to begin to stand.  
  
“Dude, what is your damage?”  
  
There’s a flurry of motion in which neither of them really move at all and Aubrey isn’t sure how it happens. One second she’s almost ready to throw a punch and the next she’s pressing her lips to Beca’s, who has risen half out of her seat and is resting the majority of her weight on her arms as her hands remain on the armrests of the chair.  
  
There is stark silence and then the rumble of thunder or maybe the crackle of fire, but there’s a pull, too. That itch Aubrey had been feeling grows instantaneously, until it’s riddled throughout her body, making her fingers twitch with the urge to reach out.  
  
Instead, she breaks away, a look of abject horror on her face. She covers her mouth, fallen open in shock, with her hand and stares wide-eyed at Beca, who slumps back down into her seat with raised eyebrows.  
  
There’s an awful moment of quiet then, wherein neither girl says anything and Aubrey’s mind tries very hard to work itself into overdrive, connecting dots and lines of bright red string. And nothing about this makes sense. It is shocking and horrifying, and Aubrey wants the ground to open up and swallow her.  
  
Somehow, she manages to get her feet unstuck from their spot on the carpet and she turns toward the door, desperate to flee.  
  
“ **Now** you’re going to leave?” There’s cockiness in Beca’s voice, but it’s muted by something else. Surprise, maybe. Whatever it is, it’s enough to make Aubrey stop and glance over her shoulder.  
  
Beca Mitchell is wearing that same patronizing smirk that Aubrey has been subject to probably well over a hundred times by now.  
  
And Aubrey feels that pull again. 


End file.
